


Days in the Constant

by Eternal_screaming_void



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Multi, Slow Burn, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 10,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22180141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eternal_screaming_void/pseuds/Eternal_screaming_void
Summary: This is a series of small snippets (only a few paragraphs each), that I’ll update daily! Each one generally has a different character’s perspective, but holds a general overall story line. Keep in mind, this is just something I’m doing for fun, and I’m not taking it super seriously. Though, comments and kudos do help keep me motivated :3
Relationships: Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve), Wigfrid/Wortox (Don’t Starve)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 106





	1. Day 1

The nights had gotten cold much quicker than expected. Of course, he wasn’t surprised by this, he was the one who made it that way after all. For a moment, Maxwell considers the fact of how ironic his life has become recently. Once the king of the world, and now just another pawn in a never ending game. Well, he liked to think of himself at least as a knight, but it is what it is. 

He clutches the warm thermal stone in one frail hand, tracing the ridges absently, as more thoughts threatened the edges of his consciousness. So far nothing had come of Wilson being on the throne, and he has yet to hear hide or hair of the scientist. It occurred to him that perhaps his ‘friend’ was proving to be better suited for the throne then himself. If only Higgsburry could hold off until he figured a way out of here; not that it was likely.  
Maxwell had been here for an eternity already, and had found no way out.

The night clung tight around his field of vision, but he didn’t flinch at it. He’d have to be very careful to do this, but if he did it right, he wouldn’t need to fear the dark. He settles down onto the cold ground, grumbling, but sighing and eventually getting as comfortable as he could. The hot thermal stone glowed slightly in the dark, just enough to keep Charlie from attacking him, but he could still feel her presence lingering; which was exactly what he wanted. He was careful not to be too far from the fire pit in any case; the last thing he wanted was for her to kill him again.

Maxwell takes in a slow, almost pained breath, letting it out even slower, watching the trail of warm breath steaming up in front of him. “I know you’re there, Charlie. You don’t have to hide from me you know.” He waits a beat, waiting for a response. When none came, he sighs, and continues on. “I know you’re in there, I really do. You’re not all monster, I’ve seen it...not that I can blame you for acting the way you do towards me. It’s fair, and only what I deserve.”

“What I’m trying to say is, I think I’ve almost found a way out of here this time. I’ve almost got this next part decoded, and then we’re home free. I’m not leaving without you. I wouldn’t ever dream of it.”

He sighs, leaning forward so his gaunt face rests in a hand. He had tried this so many times before, this exact conversation, and had never once gotten a response. He didn’t even know why he bothered. 

Maxwell’s head jerks up, and his eyes go wide as he stares at a shadow hand, just peeking out from the darkness. It was these same hands that normally chased away his light, and yet it wasn’t moving towards him, just hovering near him. He sighs, and hesitated for a moment, chewing his lip, and slowly reaches a hand over. He expected it to pull away, but it didn’t. He rests his hand on it, pulling in another slow breath. It wasn’t the same as having his friend back, but it was close enough for the moment. 


	2. Day 2

“So. Who wants to address the elephant in the room?” Willow stood with her hands at her hips, her trusty lighter tucked behind her fingers as she glances around the camp at the other survivors. How many of them were there now? She’d lost count. “Who here wants to allow Maxwell into camp?” 

There were only two hands raised. Winona, who really wasn’t a surprise, as she hadn’t been here for most of the chaos, and Wilson. Everyone seemed surprised to see his hand in the air, and even he seemed mildly surprised about it, though he kept it up.

“I think we should give him a chance, Willow. He did help me bring the rest of you here.” The scientist shifts, placing his hand back in his lap. “I don’t think he’s all bad; but just because he’s here now doesn’t mean we can, or have, to forgive him. He knows what he did, and he agreed that he doesn’t expect forgiveness. I also just, can’t get behind throwing someone out into the wilderness alone.” 

Willow chews her lip for a moment, hands falling limp at her side as she fiddles absently with the lighter, flicking it on and off a few times as she thinks. “Well, first off, group majority was to kick him out. Second of all, I personally can totally get behind it. Why not let him taste what we had to go through?” There were several murmurs of agreement, but both Wilson and Winona shook their heads, and Wilson stands, gathering the attention of the other survivors. “No! Willow, he’s already been through that! How do you think he got to the throne in the first place? Look, I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve it, because he does, but can’t we show a little compassion? You guys haven’t completely lost that have you? If you have, I can’t say I want to be here with you.” 

Winona nods in agreement, standing up beside him. “Whatever Max did to you guys may not have been completely his fault, and you’re wanting to just let him die?”

There’s a few murmurs and whispers, before Wendy stands as well, brushing out a few wrinkles in her outfit, Abigail lingering not too far behind. “My uncle deserves whatever he gets, but it does surprise us that he doesn’t seem to remember much. Maybe we should keep him here, even just for that.” And she returns to sitting, hands folded over the flower in her lap.

Willow glances around the group again, before sitting down as well, running a hand through her hair. “Fine. I’ll take another vote. Who’s for leaving Maxwell outside?” A few survivors still raised their hands, but not nearly as many as before. The pyromaniac sighs, and shrugs. “Well, that’s democracy for ya, I guess. Stinks. I was hoping to let him rot. Alright, we’ll let him back in in the morning.”


	3. Day 3

Maxwell showed no signs of relief at being allowed into camp, on the contrary, he seemed to be seeing it more as an inconvenience. He had a decent little set up here, and he’s hate for it to go to waste; also he wasn’t sure how well he could reintegrate with people at this point. It was as scary thought, and he tried not to think about it. 

He sneers, pulling the thick, fur lined coat back over his shoulders, not turning to face Wilson, who had volunteered to be the messenger this once. He was already regretting it.

“Look, I’m not saying you have to come back, I’m just saying that you can. I’m not gonna drag you back kicking and screaming, you know? Just..you know where it is, if you need or want us.” Wilson sighs, rubbing the back of his neck in mild irritation and awkwardness. Why was Maxwell being so difficult? And why did he care?! With a wave of the hand, the scientist turns, heading off back towards camp. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, it’s not like Maxwell would be grateful or anything, and he felt foolish for believing he might. 

It wasn’t until later that night that Maxwell finally showed up; a torch held aloft and a backpack full of supplies and torn down structures. Without a word, the magician came in and asserted himself, setting up a prestihatitator and a few other miscellaneous objects. Wilson rubs his eyes, watching from the safety of his tent, leaning against the side as he absently watches. He felt conflicted. On one hand, he was glad Max had decided to join them, on the other, he was rightfully upset Maxwell had ignored him. With a sigh and a groan, he leans back into the bed roll, covering himself up again.

He supposed Maxwell’s dignity was something to take into account from now on; he did have a reputation to uphold.


	4. Day 4

The hounds were something he was proud of. Along with his clockwork chess pieces, the hounds were something that wrecked chaos on the world below, and while he had watched from the throne, he had thought it had proved a good challenge. He was still fond of them, but highly discouraged by the fact that they didn’t remember him. 

Maxwell snarls, short, fang like teeth bared as he jabs a spear at the nearest hound. He hated having to directly fight something, but there wasn’t enough nightmare fuel to go around at the moment. But like they always said, if you want something done right, do it yourself, right?

A loud bark followed a sharp pain in his lower leg, and he jerks around, stabbing the offending hound, trying to keep them off of himself, but he knew eventually he’d be overwhelmed. No one else had been at camp when the hounds had attacked; it was up to him to try and protect the place. 

The stumble was short and sharp, and Maxwell’s eyes shut tight as he expect equally sharp fangs to end the fleeting bit of life he had left. However, they never did come.

Instead, a hand under his arm pulled him up and out of the way, a practiced and steady hand keeping the hounds at bay, and eliminating them with efficiency. Maxwell never did see who had saved him, as he was rather quick to loose consciousness afterwards; but he knew that voice anywhere. 

He’d have to thank Wilson later.


	5. Day 5

Ghosts are a common thing in the Constant, but even so, Abigail was different. For one thing, she couldn’t be revived, and for the second, she was never far from her sister, Wendy. The two twins were close, even in death, and it seemed to all the world that it would stay that way; and they were both okay with that.

Wendy waggles her feet slightly, apparently intent on her work, slowly sticking together a few flowers, and forming a nice little flower crown. She almost seemed to not notice as Wilson walked by, and stops, surprised to see her so far from camp. 

“Wendy, why are you sitting there?” The scientist gestures vaguely in the child’s direction, his face tense with distress. “That’s a grave! Don’t you have any respect?” Abigail shifts a bit closer, watching her sister work, and then back at Wilson. 

“Ooo?” The question in her ghostly voice was evident, but it was always hard to figure out what was being said. Though, with so much practice, Wendy was able to pretty easily translate.

“She wants to know why it’s a problem.” Wendy swings her legs again, before finally looking up, setting the garland on the headstone beside her. “I also don’t see the problem. They’re dead, why should they care?” Wilson sighs, running a hand through greasy hair, and finally shrugs. 

“You know what? Fair.” Wilson sighs, leaning against a tall pine tree, watching Abigail float by absently. Wendy watches him for a moment, a small grin spreading across her face. She slides carefully off the headstone, garland in hand. 

“So, you and Maxwell, huh?” Wendy crosses her arms in front of her waist, garland held loosely off to the side, an eyebrow raised as she looks up at Wilson.

“Huh? What do you mean?” He blinks, rubbing an eye, and pushing a few tears away as he yawns. “We’re just friends. Well, not even that really, more just..co-workers, you know?” 

She watches him for a moment, hip cocked to the side, and eyebrows raised. “You saved his life.” She adds, as if this proves something. Abigail wanders back towards her sister, wondering momentarily what her sister cared about this, but didn’t bother to ask just yet, instead turning to Wilson also, expecting an answer to an unasked, but apparent, question. 

“Look, I don’t know what you want me to say, Wendy. It’s not like I could just let him die. I didn’t want to waste a heart on him, you know?” Wilson shrugs, arms guarding his chest absently, hands tucked to the side. “Besides, it wouldn’t matter even if it was different.” 

“Mm.” 

“Oooo.”

The two twins nodded at each other, apparently agreeing on some pre-established criteria. “That’s fair, I guess.” Wendy uncrosses her arms, leaning over and handing the garland to Wilson. “But either way, I bet he’d appreciate a gift.”


	6. Day 6

Wolfgang is a mighty man, and very proud of that fact. It didn’t help that when he felt hungry, he seemed to get weaker, and he was constantly grumbling about it under his breath, but never really brought it up. It’s not like it matters, unless someone’s life or pride was on the line. However, what he hated the most was being dead. 

It’s not like he’d been waiting to be revived for too long, and he didn’t really mind it too much, so long as he had something to do. For the past day and a half, he’d been helping Wendy and Webber with the gardens, and occasionally going out with Woodie to help him as well. Though, on days where everyone was away from camp, things got boring pretty quickly. The ghost sighs, and wanders around again, randomly examining things to pass the time, waiting for Wilson to return, who promised him a heart when he finally did. 

However, when the scientist finally arrived, he went right pass the moping ghost, and straight for Maxwell’s tent, which was set a bit away from the other tents. Wolfgang groans, and starts moving over to the scientist, to remind him he still needed to be revived, however, he was caught off guard as the shorter man approached the magician, holding out a rather well made garland. 

“Look, uh. I know you don’t technically need this, but I wanted to make a kind of..peace offering, if that makes sense. I know things have been tense, and for a decent reason, but..well, I for one, would like to try and move on from it.” 

Maxwell takes the garland, apparently confused, and a bit caught off guard, looking at the pale colors of the flowers stuck together to form a makeshift crown; and he smiles.

“It’s no true crown, but the gesture is appreciated.” He answers, nodding his head in an appreciative gesture. 

Wilson hesitates, as if wanting to say more, and sighs as Maxwell turns away, heading back towards the other side of camp, and runs a hand through his tangled mess of hair. He almost jumped when he saw Wolfgang hovering nearby.

“Huh? Oh! Right, sorry, I got uh, distracte- how much of that did you see?” 

Wolfgang grins slightly as the heart is handed over, and he revives, taking in a long breath of air. “Too much for a mighty man, little scientist, but I will not complain.” 


	7. Day 7

Wortox always comes and goes as he pleases; it’s how he’s always been. 

In recent days, he’d found himself sticking around, more and more. It took him a while to figure out exactly why. For a while, he thought it was because he could so easily get enough souls to sustain himself, but after a while he realized that wasn’t quite it. He was looking for something, and it wasn’t until he started really spending time with Wigfrid that he realized why.

Wortox comes and goes as he pleases, but has always wished for companionship, and friendship. He expected the warrior to shun him, or have a distaste for him, due to his nature, and his personality; but on the contrary, they made quite the team!

Wigfrid wipes a bit of spider blood off her cheek with a bright grin, ruddy cheeks gleaming in the cold evening air, spear held off to the side as she turns to her companion. “Höw is yöur höard nöw, friend?” The imp shifts, holding out a clawed hand, and summons up the bright red orbs, quickly counting them with a grin. 

“Plenty to last now, thanks to your vow!” Wortox dispels the souls, and his tail gives a happy wiggle. “I do appreciate the thought, though!” 

The warrior smiles, brushing a loose braid out of her face, frowning, pulling it down and quickly redoing it, and pushing it over her shoulder again. “Ön the öther hand, we have so much silk now. Spider child shöuld be happy with this, let’s just nöt mentiön höw we göt them, yes?” 

Wortox scratches an ear, and nods in agreement. “Yes, I don’t think we should, but it’s fine, we can make more nests now!” 

The actress smiles, nodding in agreement, and starting to head off back towards the main camp. “Yes! Agreed!” 

The two were silent for a moment, walking down the small, paved road back to camp, and Wortox quickly devours a soul, and offers Wigfrid a plate of meatballs, which she gratefully takes.

“You know, I’ve been wondering, do you ever think were here for a reason?” Wortox wasn’t normally the philosophical type, but it was a question weighing on him lately. “Well, I suppose if you lot are here for a reason, I can come and go.”

Wigfrid taps her chin in thought with the tip of her spear, almost absently, and shrugs. “I dönt’t know. I try nöt tö think aböut it much, if I’m hönest. We cannöt pass to Valhalla fröm here, and it all seems sö...I dönt knöw höw tö explain it, besides höpeless; yöu knöw?” 

Wortox nods, and sighs. “Yeah. I know.” They enter into camp together, and the two exchange a glance at the bustling camp. 

“Though, I think this is worth something.” He gestures to the camp around them. 

“At least we’re making something from nothing, you know?” Wigfrid nods, and smiles. 

“Yes. I agree.”


	8. Day 8

Woodrow had always been the cynical sort. It just seemed to fit them, and this new life in the Constant. That didn’t change, when they’dbeen placed into a robotic body. WX-78 was only focused on surviving; they hadn’t even teamed up with the other survivors. They weren’t a fan of organics, and kept their distance from them as much as they could; only occasionally making trips to the main camp, and exchanging food for other items of interest.

For a long time, WX had considered magic to be beneath them. However, their rather long stint on the throne after Wilson had changed things. They still wasn’t super fond of it, but it was something they’d taken an interest in.

WX-78 bounces the purple gem in their palm as they walk, trudging through the thick layer of snow on the ground, back towards their camp. It was a decent hike, but they never had met another person on the way there before. 

Wormwood was curled up with their back against a statue, a warm thermal stone clutched tightly to their chest, a dying fire flickering in the evening light. They always hated winter. Nothing grew, and they couldn’t bring themselves to kill anymore trees; it just, hurt so badly to do so. They knew they would die tonight, but it would be alright. If they were lucky, perhaps the scientist, or the magician would revive him again. They hadn’t even seen the robot coming.

For a moment, something like empathy pinged in the robots systems, as they watched the shivering bundle of a plant; and they sigh reluctantly, approaching the dying fire, placing a few logs on the fire, and sitting across from them. Wormwood stares across the flame at the shadow covered robot, eyes wide in surprise and apparent shock. And then they smile.

“Thank you.”

There wasn’t a response; but there was a nod.


	9. Day 9

It was a surprise to everyone when WX-78 had arrived in camp, carrying another sentient, and organic, being. Wormwood hardly weighed much, and it also helped the WX had some practice lugging around heavier items. And well, also that they’re a robot. The plant like being was a subject of interest on everyone’s part, even the few who had met him before hand. Wortox In particular was very curious about them, as had WX, who had seemingly designated themself as Wormwood’s protector.

Wortox is the jovial sort, generally able to bring up a laugh or a smile from even Maxwell on occasion, and the imp was intent on making the newest survivor feel at home in the camp. He watched for a moment as Wormwood settles near the fire, warming up their leaves and face some, trying to find some respite from the bitter cold pressing in on camp now that winter was in full swing.

In a few days, they’d need to worry about the Deerclops, but for now, they were relatively safe.

The red furred imp settles next to a Wormwood, by the fire, flashing a bright, happy grin at the other. “Heya! How are you holding up?” 

Their leaves give a twitch, and they smile in response, shrugging. “Decently, I guess. I wish it was spring already.” Wortox nods, humming in thought for a moment.

“Yeah, I like spring. It’s real nice so long as the Moose Goose keeps her distance.” The imp smiles fondly, leaning back against a log by the fire. “Granted, I do really like the moslings. They’re just so cute!” 

Wormwood can’t hide a little laugh, and nods. “They’re very cute! It’s just a shame that they have to eat all my plant friends..” They sighs a little and shrug. “But, there’s not much I can do to stop it, you know?” 

Wortox hums again in response, nodding absently. “Hey, you know what? We could always make you a little garden come spring, and fence it off, if you’d like. I think that’d be pretty neat!”

Wormwood smiles, and nods enthusiastically. “Yes! I’d really like that!”


	10. Day 10

WX-78 was very fond of the moon. There was something about it, and it’s gentle allure that calmed even them. They also had a vast appreciation for things that, generally, came from the moon. Eventually, this included one organic being. 

Wormwood is a kind soul, if a bit dim witted, but they’re still learning. Ever since first finding them freezing to death, WX had made it a priority to never be too far from them. They didn’t know why, but the bot had managed to develop a strong connection with the plant.

When Wormwood had first mentioned being lonely, WX had been inclined to ignore it. However, as the nights grew longer, they noticed Wormwood getting quieter and quieter, and had decided enough was enough. Finding the ingredients was easy enough, but convincing Wormwood to leave camp was considerably harder. 

“It won’t be far, it’s just up the road.” The bot crosses their arms, trying to keep the annoyance from rising in their voice. It would be a bit of a hike through the snow, but with their thermal stones and the stuff to make a fire, the two should be fine.

Wormwood hesitates, catching the wave of irritation in WX’s voice, and rocks on their heels a bit. “I dunno..I just don’t really wanna go out if I can avoid it.” 

WX-78 chews on their nonexistent lip, and sighs. “Look, I got worried when you mentioned you were lonely. I just wanna help, but to help I need you to come with me.” 

Wormwood seems taken aback by this, and blinks, before smiling. “Oh..sorry! I didn’t mean to worry Metal Friend! I- well, alright. I’ll go with you, then.”

The critter den wasn’t far from the main camp. Wilson would always say it was part of what made it ideal when they set up there, but Maxwell always added in an undertone that Wilson didn’t even know it was there until Maxwell had pointed it out. It was the easy accessibility that made it so nice, really.

The fish sticks were gone within seconds of Wormwood setting them inside the den, and a grey stripped kitkat sleepily stumbles from within, blinking lazily up at the plant, and the shadow covered bot beside them, and promptly meows, and purrs, settling on Wormwood’s foot. 

The young plant seems caught off guard yet again, and bends down, scooping up the warm pile of fluff into their arms, petting it gently between the ears. 

“I don’t think I’ll be lonely anymore.”


	11. Day 11

Being in the dark was the closest she ever felt to her sister anymore. It was almost painful, seeing her so close, and yet so far away.

Winona is a capable woman, brave and charismatic, and above all, kind. But all of that didn’t stop Charlie from worrying. Or well, part of her from worrying.

The night monster is a vicious thing, one that is very hard to control. When she had first gotten on the Nightmare throne, the night monster and her human half had melded together more smoothly than ever before; but that didn’t stop it from being hard to coral. 

It was always heart wrenching to see one of the children die. She and Winona both agreed on that. The Constant is no place for children, and it was one of the greatest reasons she hates Maxwell. 

The cave in came suddenly, with hardly any warning this time. Charlie had been watching from the shadows, the fact that she was so close to her sister without hurting her a piece of small comfort.She knew what was going to happen before it even registered completely that the cave in was happening.

Winona hardly took a breath in before reacting, pushing both Webber and Wormwood out of the way, towards the stairs. She had seen plenty cave ins before, when she still worked the mines; and despite having sworn she’d never return to them, here she was, stuck in a seemingly useless cycle of needing more supplies. 

She didn’t feel any pain. Charlie made sure of that. It happened too quickly for the pain to even register. Winona’s ghost rises slowly from the rubble, staring forlornly at her buried body, before looking up.

It was a shock to see her sister there, mouth covered, eyes wide. It hurt. A numb, loose pain in her chest. Why hasn’t she done something?

There would be hell to pay later. Charlie hasn’t ever interfered so far, and this was a true test of her love and her willingness to be a good host.

She took a deep breath, then two, and three. It was done in an instant. Her sister was alive again, backpack strewn haphazardly over one shoulder, just as she had been before the collapse. 

She could live, if only for Charlie to pay for it.


	12. Day 12

Sometimes it was hard for Wigfrid to feel really attached to anything. Method acting had quite literally saved her life, and was continuing to do so, everyday; but it worked as a kind of mask over her true self, most of which had eroded away by now. It was difficult to form true relationships because it always felt like the character, and now herself. Was she even herself anymore? It was hard to tell.  
Despite it being so difficult, however, she found herself being very fond of the children. Wormwood and Webber in particular. Wendy was great too, but the child was more fond of talking to Wilson than Wigfrid, which was alright with her.  
“I’m really surprised how nice he is..Robot friend seemed really scary at first, but he’s really not! Not that we’re one to judge, though. A lot of things look scary but are actually really nice!” Wormwood wiggles their feet as they talk, Kitkat held loosely in their arms as they sit on the fence, smiling at Wigfrid. The warrior had just returned from a very successful hunt, and was hanging up neat to dry.  
“I’m very glad yöu twö are getting alöng! I thöught yöu might.” She smiles, brushing a pigtail out of her way, and tying another piece of meat to the string, and letting it dangle down. Wormwood tilts their head, and smiles again, a bit more giddy this time. “I’m surprised you and Wortox get along!”  
“Huh?” Wigfrid turns, almost dropping the giant haunch she was hanging up, and blinks in surprise. Had it been so obvious?  
“Yeah! You two both just kind of...light up when you see each other! It’s really really cute!”


	13. Day 13

The dreams were always the worst. Maxwell didn’t need sleep often, and would generally skip it even if he did technically need it. He always had the dreams. It was the same set every time. They liked to taunt him. 

It always started with him being back on the throne. Shadows always wrapping around him, tormenting, constantly moving, as if rubbing their own freedom in his face. It was hell, being able to see everything and do nothing. He’d practically gotten numb to it.

Except for once.

He’d only cried once. He hadn’t even realized it was happening until it was too late. The Deerclops is a force to be reckoned with; even They knew it. Wilson had been so damn close that time, just so, so close. If he could have just finished the portal-

Maxwell has cried for the first time in however many years he’d been here. Tears of anguish and distraught. His possible savior had been so close, and yet so far away.

It always resulted in the same affect, he’d always wake up, tears streaming down his face. Maxwell wasn’t one to cry in public, and always kept to his tent when it happened, careful to calm himself down before stepping out into the open. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

This time was different. It had been so, so vivid. He could feel the shadows holding him back, chaining him down once again, he could practically feel it all.

Panic set in; it was so easy to do, and yet so hard to avoid. He hadn’t realized he’d been sobbing.

Maxwell almost reacted on instinct as a hand rests on his shoulder, pulling the Dark Sword from its place by his side, holding it tight with a shaking hand. Wilson almost yelped, but held his ground, hands out in a calming kind of way. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, I just-“

Maxwell went from scared to almost livid in the span of five seconds. 

Rather than yell about it, he took a second to calm himself down, setting the sword aside, and watching it flickering half heartedly for a moment. Wilson hesitates, before slowly sitting down just inside the tent, apparently still a bit caught off guard by this whole situation, but still worried to an extent.

“I’m sorry, Maxwell, I know I really shouldn’t have, but I got kind of worried, and-“ the scientist trails off, shaking his head slightly. “Are you alright?”

Maxwell leans forward slightly, catching the hand that had been waving as he spoke, and giving it a squeeze. It would have seemed reassuring to the other; but he was also reassuring himself, just making sure Wilson was in fact alive. For some reason the small beat of a pulse there made him feel safe.


	14. Day 14

The spiders always seemed indifferent to the cold. Webber always wondered if it was their fur that kept them warm, much like his own kept him warmer as it grew out. Spiders are always skittish towards the other survivors, but he didn’t mind. He could understand why they didn’t trust them; it’s hard to trust those that look so different from you. Webber understands that, but he’s always made it a point to never judge a spider by its silk. 

He takes a deep breath, sitting down next to a smaller spider, letting it crawl up into his lap, and giving it a quick scratch behind the head. “Ehehe, hey buddy! We missed you too. We’re sorry we haven’t been around much; we’ve been busy getting ready for spring! I can’t wait for it either, I really like all the growing things!”

The spider gives a small chittering hiss in response, climbing up into Webber’s back, and looking out into the forest. The night was almost up, and their fire was burning dim. 

“Huh? What’s wrong?” Webber shifts, looking out in the direction his spider friend was looking, and frowns. “I don’t see anything..” almost every spider in the nearby dens had scattered for the safety of their webs, the one on his back bracing itself against the child, ready to jump off at a moments notice. 

Spiders are easily startled. A child, well, not quite so easily.

The loud sounds of trees falling in the nearby woods hit the child first, followed by a sickly red light. Webber had never survived this long alone. He’d never seen the Deerclops before.

The spider hesitates, claws latched onto its friend’s backpack as they watched the Giant coming closer. Why wasn’t the spider child running? Didn’t he know the Giants were dangerous? Apparently not. It’d just have to show him. 

The spider chitters loudly, jumping down off of Webber’s back, running for the cover of a den, and stops to look at the child as if telling them to hide.

It’s hesitation cost it it’s life. The giant’s hooves were indiscriminate against what they crushed, so long as something was destroyed, it was satisfied. 

Webber stares, all eight eyes wide in horror and shock. He ran, without a second thought; and the Deerclops, finally seeing movement, gives chase.

The spiders cause little resistance for the Deerclops. Even the Spider Queen was only able to buy Webber a little bit of time, as the child ran. In the end, a child’s legs can only get them so far by running; and a Giant doesn’t tire easily.

The camp was close, Webber could see the firelight, dimming in the early morning light. He could hear the Deerclops not far behind; it was gaining on him quickly. He wouldn’t make it. A slash of ice brushes against his back, cutting into his backpack, spilling its contents all over the ground behind him, and the child stumbles, and falls.

Perhaps that would have been the end of Webber, had fate not been on his side; well, fate, and a bit of impish aptitude. 

The Deerclops jerks back as a flash of red light embraces the dying darkness around them, and Wortox emerges, a grin and a spear in hand. Wigfrid wasn’t far behind, adjusting her battle helm and giving a mighty war cry as she rushes her Giant foe. 

Webber was still heart broken at loosing all the spiders, but it cheered him up that everyone else was okay.

A glistening red ornament glows from the top of the Winter’s Feast tree, a reminder of their triumph, and all that had been lost. 


	15. Day 15

Pranks are a great source of fun. Particularly in the Constant, a good prank could be used to break the constant tension. Wortox loves pranks, but he had learned very quickly that sometimes, pranks go too far.

Perhaps it was the part of Krampus he’d absorbed when they had fought, or maybe it was some hidden complex he’d developed in their time together, but there’s always an underlying desire to punish for the crimes the survivors commit to survive. It was easy to ignore at first, but the tension, much like the days, only builds, until something happens that he can’t ignore.

“It’s not really a ‘punishment’, anyways. It’s just a harmless prank! It’s not gonna hurt anyone!” Wortox mutters under his breath with a sigh as he watches Maxwell finally leave his tent unattended. The Codex Umbra was lying next to the bedroll, just as it always was.

All Wortox had to do was make the switch.

It would be fairly easy to tell the difference if someone took a long look at the book, as he was replacing it with one of Wickerbottom’s books, and the covers were fairly different. Specifically, the lack of the bright red ‘M’ would make it fairly obvious. 

What he didn’t expect, however, was for a Wickerbottom to come looking for the missing book.

“Excuse me, Imp, but I’m afraid I’ve misplaced a particular volcanology book. You haven’t seen it, have you?” The older woman raises a pencil thin eyebrow, glancing between the imp still in Maxwell’s tent, and the plain black book in hand. 

“I assure you it was only for a harmless prank, Miss!” Wortox flashes a nervous grin, hands behind his back; quickly tucking one of the books into his backpack. 

“Uh huh.” Wickerbottom’s eyebrows didn’t lower, but her lips did give a little quiver of a smile. “I suppose that just happens to be your specialty, doesn’t it?” She holds a hand out, silently demanding the book back, which Wortox begrudgingly hands to her.

The librarian’s eyebrows lowered quite suddenly, as she exams the cover of the book. A bright red ‘M’ was engraved into it.

Wortox groans, and slaps his palm to his face, goat like ears waggling in frustration. Wickerbottom, on the other hand, seemed equal part amused, and...concerned.

“You can’t read, can you?” It was less a question, and more of a gentle, if slightly stern, statement. 

Wortox sighs, and shrugs, handing her the correct book back. “Guess I just never learned. It wasn’t high on my priorities at the time, though priorities and time are hard enough to rhyme.” He grimaces and shrugs, watching the librarian with little interest, hoping he wasn’t about to get told off for never learning something he probably should have eons earlier.

Wickerbottom exams her correct book, and gently sets the Codex back down on the bedroll. “Meet me by the fire tomorrow night. We’ll start then.” And without another word, the librarian was gone, leaving a stunned imp in her wake. 


	16. Day 16

There’s something very charming about sword fighting. Just in the way each individual had to move, and almost dance as they fought; it was very fascinating to watch. Wilson had seen fencers and circus people sword fight before, but had never had the chance to learn himself. Well, not until now.

It was a bit less fun when it was more from a point of survival rather than just for fun, but it wasn’t any less fascinating.

Wilson wasn’t sure how Maxwell had managed to learn to be so good at sword fighting, but it had apparently happened somewhere along the way, as he was rather proficient with the dark sword, though perhaps that was more shadow magic, and less skill. Either way, it helped greatly that the scientist was a fast learner. 

“Keep your elbow bent.” Maxwell shifts on his feet, easily parrying a bit too high blow from the other. He leans the blade down, smirking as he taps that flat edge to Wilson’s elbow. “It’ll make it a lot easier to block this.” As if to make a point, he twists the blade, giving him another tap to the wrist. “It’s all easy if you can make it fluid.”

Maxwell pulls away, giving Wilson a moment to catch his breath. It was hard to learn from first hand experience, but it would seem that was how Wilson learned best.

“Alright, I think I’ve got it this time. You ready?” Wilson flashes a little grin, and Maxwell sighs, scowling in mock irritation. 

“If I have to be.” 

“You’re the one who offered to teach me!”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think you’d be such a -“ 

Maxwell jerks as his side was tapped by the flat of Wilson’s blade and huffs, eyes narrowing slightly. 

“Alright. Alright, I see how it is, Higgsbury.”

Maxwell closes the distance between them in one swift step, shifting his stance and his blade with practiced ease, effectively backing Wilson into a tree, and pinning him.

“Well, what now, Mister Higgsbury?” 

He hadn’t expected this, and neither had Maxwell. It just kind of..happened.

Wilson grinned, and closed the little gap between them, and gave him a quick kiss to the lips.

Maxwell jerks back, as if hit, eyes going wide, fingers brushing over his lips in shock.

That..was really fucking cute.


	17. Day 17

The forests are deep and dark. The lumpy Evergreens clumped close together, hardly allowing light to brighten the world below them. A portal. He could have sworn he’d see a portal just around the bend here.

A scrawny man skitters to a halt, leaning against a tall tree, panting heavily, and takes the moment to readjust his slipping glasses. Things never lasted in the Constant. It was a lesson William had had to learn very quickly in order to survive. But he knew what he’d seen, he just had to get to it before it disappeared again. 

He takes off again, leaning against the walking cane in one hand, pushing himself to go faster. He was so close this time; he could hear it, just around the corner.

He never was fast enough.

The frail man collapses to the ground with a groan of frustration, panting, head in his hand. “Auuugghh! I could have sworn it was here!” He removes his glasses, setting them in his lap, and just resting there for a moment, catching his breath. 

He didn’t like sitting for too long. It let him think too hard about how he’d gotten here. Let him worry about where Charlie was, and what was happening to the both of them.

He could hear it again. The soft thrumming of a portal, teasing him to chase after it again,begging him to come forward into the next world, if only he could catch it, if only he could reach out and take it.

He’d been right. It had been right here. He just didn’t look at the right time.

He’d expected another endless world when he stepped through the portal, but alas, he had finally reached the end of this chessboard.

There was nothing there, except the throne, and the whispers of the shadows. William kept his distance from the throne for almost a full year. He didn’t trust that, as far as he could throw it. He set up a base, just as he always did, and explored out as far as he could. Eventually, the shadows pushed back, setting a boundary to this lavish room. He didn’t question it at the time.

Eventually, the whispers and his own curiosity made him cave. All he did was get close enough to to the throne to touch it. He had ran a finger along it before-

Maxwell jerks up right, a silent gasp escaping him. He takes a moment, shutting his eyes tight, and calming himself. It seemed more vivid every time..

He stands, stepping out from the tent, into the cool night air. Wortox and Wickerbottom were sitting by the fire, both of them pouring over a book. Maxwell glances around, before carefully avoiding them, and stepping into the calming darkness of the night. 

He lights a torch as he leaves camp, holding it carefully aloft, letting his feet carry him as he walked, not thinking about where he was going.

The woods all almost felt familiar. They all looked almost the same, except for the encroaching graves in this particular forest. He scowls, carefully picking his way around them. Best not to wake any ghosts tonight.

He thought he almost had, when he saw the familiar ghostly glow in the distance. However, he relaxed at seeing a familiar ghostly face. Abigail grins at seeing him, and goes over to him, acting as a smaller light source as his torch fades out. It was like the twins had been expecting him, and truth be told, their hospitality wasn’t unwelcome.

Wendy glances up from the fire as Maxwell sits across from her, Abigail floating a bit always from camp, keeping an eye on some nearby spiders, scaring them away if they came too close.

“Nightmares again?” Wendy’s voice was casual, and surprisingly gentle for one so young. Maxwell sighs, rubbing his temple, seemingly kneading the pre-existing wrinkles. 

“So it would seem.”

“Do you want to interpret them, or do you want a distraction?”

“...a distraction would be nice.”

“You always say that.”

“Than why ask?”

Wendy smiles, ghostly white eyes tired in the firelight. “Because it’s the polite thing to do.”


	18. Day 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snippets are being put on hold momentarily. I’m just too exhausted at the moment to put out any sort of quality.

Wendy has mixed feelings about her uncle. On one hand, she felt that Maxwell had completely lost control for a while, and that on some level, that was his own fault. On the other hand, she felt pity for him. He’d lost everything, and yet here he was, unable to move on.

She knew he was having nightmares. It’s why he didn’t sleep as much as he should. It was easy to figure out if you knew what to look for. The first time she’d offered her company, he’d already been sitting up, and she had calmly asserted herself on the other side of the fire pit. It’d gotten to the point now, Maxwell would come seeking her out for company. They often didn’t talk, but she would offer him the chance to just in case. 

Wendy shifts, watching Maxwell from across the fire pit, then looks up to her sister, still keeping a few brave spiders from getting too close. Maxwell had fallen silent after a small moment of conversation, and had taken to manipulating his shadow. The dark shadow was stark to the ground against the firelight, flickering vaguely with the embers. It was fun to watch him work, as he expertly maneuvers the shadow into a few different shapes, all while hardly moving himself. Some of them were corporeal; Wendy could see them phase into existence.

It was scary, but still fun to watch.

She didn’t know when she fell asleep. Somewhere between the silence, and endless, shifting shadow, she had drifted off. Wendy didn’t normally have dreams; at least not ones she could remember. 

It started with the Darkness. It held tight around her frail body, rendering her practically blind. All she could see was the faint glow of the wilted flower in her cupped hands. 

A hand clasps her shoulder, gentle but firm, the other shadowy hand, hovering over the flower. 

“Abigail misses you, Wendy. Don’t you miss her, too?”

The flower begins to bloom, slowly, glowing brightly as it does, the light edging away at the shadows, but doing nothing for Wendy’s sight. 

“Don’t you see how it blooms at your touch? You can be with her again, if you’d want. All you’d have to do is take the chance.” 

Wendy wakes up, curled up loosely in the makeshift sleeping roll. She didn’t remember going to sleep. Nor did she remember being covered up by a large fluffy coat. With a sigh, she sits up, rubbing her eyes, and looking first for Abigail, and than for Maxwell. It was a force of habit.

She breaths a sigh of relief, and relaxes at seeing her sister still there beside her, and shifts, tugging the coat tight around her frame. 

“I hope he knows he’s not getting this back now.”


	19. Day 19

Winona wipes her hands on the sides of her overalls, rubbing the slick, black oil off of them with a small frown. “There ya go, Maxy. That oughta get it working for ya.” She backs away from the small pile of clockwork she’d been helping him with, the newly recreated knight stationary in her wake. A mechanic in her rightful place, making things work again. Maxwell removes his gaze from the Codex, locking into the smaller, much more streamline Knight before him, and frowns. 

“You took all of the rustic charm from it.”

“Max. It was literally rusting. It needed a good cleaning, and repairs because it was rusted. From being in the rain.”

The magician sighs, palming the purple gem from its place on a table, almost making it disappear with simple sleight of hand. Winona watches intently, almost amazed. “How do you do that?” She inquires, head tilted slightly. “I never could figure that stage magician stuff out. Guess I never had an eye for it.” 

Maxwell raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment, simply taking the gem and placing it within the Knight‘s chest panel. “I hope this works; I would like to get the back on my side.” 

The mechanic groans, readjusting her bandana. She taps her foot for a moment, not keen on being ignored, particularly after she spent so much time getting that Knight working again, when those gears could have been used for something much more useful. “Do you remember when we first met?” 

Maxwell’s head jerks back slightly at the odd change in conversation, but he nods, readjusting the gem before closing the panel. 

“I doubt I could forget. Once you figured out who I was you threatened to kill me if you ever saw me again.”

Winona can’t hide a little smirk at the thought. She had said it while holding a rather large hammer too, for added affect. “Yeah. I did. I ain’t too keen about going back on my word either, but you know why I did?” Maxwell hums in response, and she huffs, coming between him and the Knight. “It’s ‘cause I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. Me and everyone else here. We gave you that chance after everything you’ve done, and for God’s sake I ain’t too keen on being repaid for my kindness like I’m just a pain in your ass.” 

Maxwell frowns, apparently taking a moment to think before he spoke; an improvement as far as Winona was concerned. “I see.” The older man sighs, and gives a shrug, torn suit giving an added feel of dejection to him. “Well, I apologize if it comes across that way, Winona, but I do have a reputation to uphold and I intend to keep it that way.”

“A reputation of what? Being an ass?”

Maxwell bares his teeth slightly, a bit of fang just peeking over his lips; a remnant or being on the Throne for so long. “As a matter of fact, yes. I have a reputation, Winona, and I intend to keep a hold of it, because if anyone else sees how pathetic I am I may as well useless.” The words were said with such a heated venom that she was rather taken aback, and blinks in concern. 

“Max?”

“ _ What _ ?”

“I don’t think you’re pathetic.”

“...well I’m glad someone doesn’t.”


	20. Day 20

“So, what’s the deal with you an’ Maxwell?” Winona looks up at the mime, the lanky survivor busy setting up another chest. Wes tilts his head slightly, and gives a shrug. “ _ I dunno. It’s hard to explain, you’d have to ask him. _ ” The man signs, giving a few exaggerated movements to prove his point, eventually gesturing over towards the magician, busy scolding Wortox for another prank.

“Yeah, but I’m askin’ you. Come on, you’ve gotta know something! Pleassseee? If you tell me I’ll help you find where he hid those balloons.” 

Wes takes a moment to consider the offer, tapping his chin before rolling his eyes and waving a hand. “ _ Alright fine, but we find them first and I’ll tell you on the way back. _ ”

The story was a bit complicated, to be fair. Wes has to take a moment to figure out how to tell it, eventually settling for a slightly adapted version of the truth. It wasn’t a lie, just slightly exaggerated...and with a few things left out.

“ _I don’t really remember how I got in the Constant, but it wasn’t long after that when I first got trapped. See, I tried, and still do try, to make people happy. It’s..a difficult thing to do here, but I do try._ ” The mime pauses, choosing his words carefully. “ _But, see, the problem was I..talked. A lot. Even more than Willow or Wilson, and they talk a lot! I guess eventually I just, got on Maxwell’s nerves. Now I just. Don’t anymore._ ” Of course, he left out the fact that it’d been his own fault for getting caught, and the fact that he’d been meddling with magic he couldn’t control. It was best not to mention it. It wasn’t important. 

In the end, he supposed it was all because, at the end of the day, he couldn’t effectively relay what he’d discovered, what he’d seen. A dead man tells no tales, but a mute man can’t speak them either.


	21. Day 21

There was something about the Constant Wortox had come to appreciate, and that was the small animals. The first time he’d encountered a Smallbird, had been during the spring. He’d heard it’s hungry cries, and had tried to scrounge together some seeds to help keep it alive.

After that, he’d become intent on saving the ones he could find before spring, still in their eggs. He felt bad stealing them from their mothers, but he knew they wouldn’t take care of the tiny chirping children. So he would instead.

He’d only been able to find one this time, the speckled blue shell placed carefully by the fire every night; and tonight was no exception. The imp settles down beside it, giving it a gentle prod with a now gloved hand. It’d been Wigfrid who’s suggested the gloves, and despite the fact that he hated wearing them, he agreed they were a decent safety precaution. He wasn’t expecting the egg to all but crack under his touch. 

He jerks his furry hand back in surprise, letting out a small yelp of fear. “Oh no!” But he relaxes when he sees the tiny chick emerging from the shell, shaking off the gooey residue, and tilting its tiny body to look at Wortox. “Cheep?”

Wortox never was far from the smallbird. Eventually, it even started to nest in his fur at night, content to snuggle up in the warm thick fur and sleep. Wortox was so scared of hurting it accidentally during the night. What if he accidentally touched it? Or crushed it? He knew for certain that’s exactly what had happened that morning. 

He had awoken without the sounds of hungry chirping in his ears, or the familiar warmth of the smallbird on his back. It was just..gone. He knew for certain the little one most have passed during the night. He’d done everything he could have to protect it, and yet-

“Cheep!!”

Wortox jerks his head up in surprise. “What?” And there was the smallish tallbird, a nest made of his bright red fur, and beefalo wool. It was safe. He was safe.

They both gave a sigh of relief. 


	22. Day 22

“Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

The young man flashes a small, but confident grin, pulling away from his dear friend. “If I thought I couldn’t do it, I wouldn’t bother with it.” He waves the Codex in one hand, and pushes his glasses back up onto his face. “Look, Charlie, I don’t know what you saw in my apartment, but we can talk about it later, alright?” Charlie frowns, pulling the black, glittery glove on, just at her elbow. 

“Yeah. Right.” She huffs, her other hand on her hip. “Look, Maxy, I still don’t think this is a good idea; what I saw last night aside. What if-“ Maxwell leans forward, and gently grips her shoulders. 

“There’s no what if to it, Charlie! It’ll be great, they’ll love it.” 

She bites her lip, and sighs. It was so, so hard to say no to him and mean it.

“Fine. But if this goes wrong-“

“You can fully blame it on me. Promise.”

She smiles a little, and bumps his shoulder with hers, tucking a rose into his lapel. 

“You’re such an ass.”

“And yet you put up with me.”

“Mmmmmm, only because someone has to.”

It was funny, watching him now. He hadn’t changed a bit, not in any real way that truly mattered. Charlie leans against a tree, watching half amusedly, invisible to the naked eye. It was just too funny to not watch, really.

“I don’t get you!” Wilson snarls, throwing his hands up in the air, the Codex held hostage in one of them. “You only care about yourself, don’t you?” 

Maxwell lunges for the book, almost tripping over his gangly legs in the process. “Give it back, Higgsbury. You don’t know what I could do.” 

“Yeah! And neither do you!” Wilson glances at the fire for a moment, of one mind to burn it here and now. He wasn’t sure what was stopping him.

“You’re right; I don’t. But I-“ Maxwell breaks off at the look Wilson was giving him. It was such a fearsome look, he’d almost think the scientist had been hanging around with Willow a bit too much. “I’ve worked with it long enough to have more of an idea than you do.”

Wilson sneers, throwing the book down into the thawing snow, turning his back on Maxwell, and sitting at the fire. Maxwell scoops it up carefully, and sets it inside his backpack with a sigh. He hesitates for a moment, staring out into the darkness with tired, grey eyes. For a moment, he felt the same as he had before. Scared, and full of false security. Charlie could all but feel the loathing coming off of him, before he turns back into the camp, quietly sitting away from Wilson, at the fire. 

She moves a bit closer, carefully skirting the edge of the light. Wilson finally looks back up at Maxwell, head resting in one open palm. “Why do you wear gloves all the time?”

The question, perhaps, came out a bit harsher than he intended, but Maxwell didn’t seem alarmed by it, thankfully. The Magician instead looks up, mildly interested in the question. “Hm? Oh.” He fingers the edge of one of the black gloves for a moment, before gently pulling it off. The skin underneath was just as black as the glove, and the fingers each ended in a fearsome, clawed nail. “Mainly because of this.” He answers, a bit stiffly, showing the scientist the claws and shadowed hand. Wilson bites his lip, before moving closer, and gently grabbing the hand, examining it curiously. 

“How- what? What did this?”

“I’m not sure. I assume it was the throne.”

Wilson nods, looking down at his own hands, thankfully unchanged from his short stint on the throne. 

“Well..I don’t think you should hide it. I think it’s..kinda neat.”


	23. Day 23

It was so odd seeing the tiny bundle of scales and happiness looking so glum, sitting alone on the stump. Nobody was sure exactly what had gotten Wurt’s spirits down so low, particularly right before Hallow’s Eve, but Wortox wasn’t one to let a friend stew in their hurt, certainly not one so young. 

Wurt glances up, quietly chewing on a gummy worm Webber had shared with her, an almost empty bag of candy at her feet. Wortox gives an enthusiastic wave, and sits down in the grass beside her, leaning back onto his hands. “Heya! What’s a kiddo like you doing out here all alone on a night like tonight?” The imp gestures with a lazy hand to the limp bag at the princesses’ webbed feet. “Aren’t you going to get candy with the others?” 

“Mm..Wurt’s not allowed to. Big meanies won’t let me come near them without hitting me, and the big big meanie won’t even give me candy!” The merfolk princess crosses her arms, scales raising up with the cold fury in her small voice. “It’s stupid and dumb.” 

Wortox raises a furry eyebrow, but nods sympathetically. “They won’t let me in either. But you know, there’s a way in without them seeing us, if you’d like! Why, the big meanies are scared of the things in the dark. I could always sneak in, with the night, and we could split the sweet sweet spoils!” 

The two were a force of mischief unrivaled by nearly anyone else, and it wasn’t long before Wurt was feeling a bit more like her old self again. The two bags overflowing with candy only added to their glee and want for a bit of friendly chaos. Though, friendly chaos often borders right along crimes.

To be fair, Wortox couldn’t blame her for what she did, setting the pig houses on fire like that. It was riotously funny seeing the loathsome pigs running from their houses, but it was much less funny to hear a sharp cry of pain from a tiny body.

It was in the imp’s nature to look after himself first and foremost, but whatever bond he had formed with his friends was enough to override that, for now at least. With a swift kick to the smelly beasts backside, Wortox howling with laughter, he leads them away from the child. It was always best to make as much noise as possible when making a distraction, and he knew it, and reveled in it. Though, perhaps it was because he was making so much noise, that he didn’t hear them gaining on him. With another warp, the imp suddenly lurches, feeling a deep emptiness in his pockets; he was out of souls, and out of an escape.

It wasn’t until later that night that Wortox finally caught back up with Wurt, his ghostly form shedding just enough light for him to find her, sitting in a small clearing away from the village, holding both of their candy bags tightly. “Hey, you know, you can have both of those really, I’m not much of a fan of physical food anyways.” Wurt jumped, and immediately leapt to hug him, holding her stubby arms around where his spirit lingered. 

“I- well. You’re welcome, dear.”


End file.
